<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Dear Cloud, by Lemon_drop_lantana</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874942">Dear Cloud,</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_drop_lantana/pseuds/Lemon_drop_lantana'>Lemon_drop_lantana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Currently tame, Epistolary, Letters, M/M, but I'm headed to explicitville</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:21:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_drop_lantana/pseuds/Lemon_drop_lantana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After killing Sephiroth for the third time, Cloud starts receiving letters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sephiroth/Cloud Strife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh, do I have 100 in-process fics?  Why not 101.</p><p>This first set of chapters is going to be a bit brief because I'm setting a "mood," okay?  After that, chapter length should become more standard.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Cloud,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m writing with news that will likely be alarming. Namely, that I am alive. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can imagine that this news will not be received positively and before you come to try and find me to remedy this problem, I wish to assure you that I am sane and I don’t intend to cause more trouble to you, or to anyone else.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I only intend to live. However, I know that in doing so, I may eventually be recognized. Naturally, this will be upsetting to anyone who recognizes me, and just as naturally they will come to you and ask you to find and kill me. For the fourth time.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And thus, this letter. Cloud, please do not come and kill me unless you are certain that you need to do so. I don't think that either of us would wish to go through that again and I don’t intend to give you a reason.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sephiroth</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cloud crumples the letter when his hand clenches instinctively. Then, with a deep breath, he smooths it flat again, palm pressing over perfect script in black ink. He’s never seen Sephiroth’s handwriting, but yes. Yes, it would look like this. He folds it back into thirds and returns it to the envelope it arrived in.</p><p>He can’t think of any reason why someone <em>not</em> Sephiroth would send him a letter like this. So it’s probably Sephiroth. And if he wanted to torture Cloud, there’s a lot of other things he could have said that would have been far more painful. And if he still intends to burn the life off the planet and ride its husk through the cosmos, he wouldn’t need to write Cloud a letter at all. </p><p>So maybe… it’s true? Honest? </p><p>If Cloud is being honest with himself, it’s not something he wants to think about much. <em>Sephiroth </em>is not something he wants to think about much. Even though he seems to live in Cloud’s head as much as he ever lived on the planet. All the <span class="pwa-mark decorator">Sephiroths</span> do. The one he watched starry-eyed on the news and the one who laid a hand on Cloud’s shoulder when he was vomiting off the back of a truck and the one who stabbed him through the chest. They’re all there, all the time.</p><p>And if it is Sephiroth, what's he going to do? Go get on his bike and search Gaia without so much as a lead? Put up posters around Edge like he’s lost a cat?</p><p>“Have you seen him? Seven feet tall. Silver hair. Answers to the name <em>bastard.”</em></p><p>Go to the WRO and… <em>shit. </em></p><p>That might be something he should do. He could show the letter to Reeve. To Rufus. Show them and let <em>them</em> decide what to do about it. They’d almost certainly start searching and they have some resources to throw at the problem. They might try to throw him at the problem and that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to.</p><p>Because Sephiroth is absolutely right. Killing him is something Cloud never wishes to go through again. Even if he makes Cloud feel sick by existing. Even if he made Cloud feel sick by being dead. Either way, Cloud hasn't had a good night's sleep since he was fifteen. <br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hey Tifa, where’d this letter come from?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know, Cloud. It was left on the bar. What is it?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“… Just fan mail.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Cloud,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s been a month since my last correspondence. I thought that it might be reassuring to hear from me, in case my last letter caused you distress.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I am still sane. I am employed and living a quiet life, probably much the same as you are. It’s odd isn’t it, trying to find a way to use the skills that you and I have productively in the world as it stands today. It’s odd too, living with the freedom of no master and no mandate. I wonder if you feel that way too. It's a new sort of pressure to try and make a life.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Either way, I’m making my way as best I can.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Also, I am sorry.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sincerely, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sephiroth</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cloud’s hands tremble as he drops the letter back on his desk.</p>
<p>He’s sorry?</p>
<p>He’s sorry and that’s it. Cloud isn’t sure if he’s outraged or appreciative. Sephiroth’s sorry. And what’s the right thing to do? How should Sephiroth go about being sorry? If this isn’t it—if writing a letter isn’t the <em>right thing—</em>what should Sephiroth do?</p>
<p>Should he just cut his own throat?</p>
<p><span class="pwa-mark decorator">Write Cloud</span> another, much <em>longer</em> letter detailing all the hundreds of thousands of things he has to be sorry for? List the names?</p>
<p>Come groveling to the WRO and stand through a trial so that <em>they</em> can kill him or lock him up or cut him into pieces?</p>
<p>Every one of those options makes Cloud want to vomit. </p>
<p>Instead, Sephiroth wrote him a letter and said “I am sorry.”</p>
<p>He’s sorry, and it hits Cloud like a blow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Cloud, where are you going?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Out.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“When will you be back? Cloud?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Cloud,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Another month. Still sane. I hope this letter helps set your mind at ease.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It feels like I should have more to say. I do have more to say, but perhaps a letter isn’t the right place for it. I have no idea if these letters bring you pain or reassurance.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I can’t feel you anymore. Not your reactions or thoughts or wants. This is, of course, exactly as it should be. But it’s also very odd—like a missing limb. I hope you know I have no desire to change this, only it would be helpful to know if I am doing you harm by writing. I hope not.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sincerely, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sephiroth</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cloud had been out on the road for a few weeks, thinking. And though he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, what brought him back to Seventh Heaven was the idea that another letter might arrive. For him. From Sephiroth.</p>
<p>Reading the words he sent is enough to put his voice back in Cloud’s head. Not the same as before, but familiar enough that it is both frightening and comforting. The old words and the new blending together and making his head feel just as tangled and chaotic as it did the first time he chased Sephiroth across the planet. Only now he's sitting safely at his desk.</p>
<p>Sephiroth can’t feel him any more. Of course he can’t. Cloud knows because he can’t feel Sephiroth either—it always went both ways. The perception. The understanding. The comfort. Not the control.</p>
<p>It ought to be reassuring. But Cloud, too, feels like something is missing. Something was ripped away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“You’re back! We missed you.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Yeah. Sorry.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s okay. How are you doing?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Fine. Was there any mail for me?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Cloud,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s only just occurred to me that you might wonder if these letters are truly from me. I suppose I always had the sense that you would know my voice anywhere. And I yours. But it may not translate through ink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So I thought I’d share a memory so that you could be assured that my correspondence is neither a joke nor a prank. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was more than eight years ago, and the last time that I felt as much like myself as I have these past few months. We were sharing a transport with Zack and we meant nothing to each other besides trooper and SOLDIER. You were pathetically ill and once I had to catch you by the back of your pants when you were leaning out a window to vomit when the transport went over a bump. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I knew what it was like to be so nauseated. When we finally arrived at the inn I asked for fennel and lemon tea, something I often drank after mako infusions, and brought it to your room myself since Zack was patrolling and you didn't want anyone to recognize you. Do you remember? I sat with you while you drank it and you told me, “Hometowns aren't everything they're cracked up to be.” And I told you, “Neither are the SOLDIER labs.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You hated the tea and didn't want to tell me, but it was so obvious even I could tell. As a joke, I said I would bring you more before our trip back to Midgar, thinking you would politely demur. Instead, you agreed so readily I decided to go ahead and do it. I had planned to bring you something different. Something sweeter. But, as we both know, that didn't happen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't know if you remember it as clearly as I do, but I hope this story assuages any doubts you have about my identity. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And, finally, I will reiterate my ongoing reassurance: one more month; still sane.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sephiroth</em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Cloud's breath catches in his chest when he saw sees the length of the latest letter. He reads it slowly, word by word, and then reads it again. </p><p>Then he folds it up, feeling the sharp creases pressed into the paper by Sephiroth’s fingers, and slides it back into its envelope. His head falls forward onto his fist and a small choking sound escapes from his throat—half sob, half chuckle.</p><p>
  <em>Do you remember?</em>
</p><p>Of course he fucking remembers. Remembers every moment that Sephiroth's eyes were on him. Cool, calm, considering. Beautiful. The licorice taste of the tea, only made worse by the sharp acidity of the lemon.<em> How can the man drink this?</em> he had wondered. And then drank down every single drop in slow sips, trying to eke out more time in Sephiroth’s presence.</p><p>And the offer of more tea, more <em>time</em>, had made him so giddy he dropped the cup in excitement. Sephiroth had caught it before it fell more than a hand’s breadth from his fingers. The whole exchange had been fantastically awkward and quietly intimate as they sat on two twin beds, facing each other.</p><p>It had changed his relationship to tea for his whole life. </p><p>Does he remember? The question is ridiculous. Somehow, after everything, even after being linked down to a cellular level, Sephiroth has never really understood how he fits into Cloud’s perception of the world. </p><p>And now he sends letters. One more joins the bundle locked in Cloud’s desk drawer. Making his skin prickle every time he steps into his own bedroom. Waking him from a dead sleep. Something that Sephiroth’s hand has touched, existing in his space.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hey Cloud, you look like shit.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Thanks, Barret.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Nah man, really. What’s goin’ on?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh … … … nothing.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Gaia, you’re a sulky sonofabitch.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Five weeks go by without a letter. </p><p>Cloud feels a tightness in his chest that he didn’t imagine he would ever feel again. The world is flat and gray and he keeps bumping into things as if his eyes aren’t working properly. Or maybe its his inner ear. He’s <em>off.</em></p><p>It’s bad enough that Tifa notices. Takes the beer glasses out of his hands when he stops and drifts away in the middle of the bar. Reminds him twice where he’s supposed to deliver packages, and then texts him the addresses for good measure. </p><p>He's worse than usual. And usually, when Cloud gets worse, he heads off on his bike to kill things. Or to drive so fast it becomes meditation. Or to just to exist somewhere he doesn't have to be perceived. </p><p>But not this time. This time he can't practice even his rudimentary self-care. </p><p>Because a letter might arrive. A letter might arrive and ease the tension in his chest that is so much more than fear. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Six weeks and one day after the last letter, a new one arrives. Tifa slides it under his door early in the morning, quietly enough that it doesn't wake him. She's good about that. </p><p>When Cloud climbs out of bed, he stretches and prepares himself to endure another day. And then he turns towards his bathroom and sees it, lying still and innocuous on the floor as if it weren't poison or treasure or a live grenade. </p><p>A shiver creeps between his shoulders as Cloud realizes he <em>slept</em> in this room with an unread letter from Sephiroth. It could say <em>anything</em>. </p><p>
  <em>I've resurrected Jenova</em>
</p><p><em>I've opened a</em> <span class="pwa-mark decorator"><em>Wutaiian</em> </span><em>noodle shop</em></p><p>
  <em>I'll bring you tea and despair, tomorrow, at the bar</em>
</p><p>Cloud forces himself to scoop it up off the floor and bring it to his desk where he can focus. Where he can sit so he won't fall down. He slides his fingers under the flap and pries it open, shamelessly bringing it to his nose as if he'll be able to breathe the air Sephiroth was breathing when he sealed it shut. </p><p>The paper is plain and heavy. The script as perfect as ever. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Cloud, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Forgive me for being late with this letter. Or perhaps forgive me for writing at all. I'm not sure which sentiment is appropriate. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I've tried for months to decide if it is cruel or reassuring for me to write you. I had resolved that it would be kinder to simply disappear and let you forget my presence on the planet entirely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And yet, as the days passed and I considered how you might feel at such an abrupt pause in communication, I worried that it might cause you anxiety about my intentions or state of mind. I simply do not know if I am selfishly harming you by continuing to write you in this manner. Or, perhaps it is selfish to stop and make you worry. I wish I knew.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The truth is this: although our connection via J cells is gone, I still feel connected to you. Not only as the fighter who had to put me down, but more. I suspect there was always more between us and this is why the link worked so well—because our minds tended towards one another naturally. Perhaps it is presumptuous of me to say so.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know that there is an obvious solution to my conundrum. I could simply tell you that this letter will be my last. And then stop writing. </em>
</p><p>[Cloud’s blood runs cold]</p><p>
  <em>And yet, the idea is painful. I admit, part of the reason I write to you is that you are frequently on my mind. And for my part, I would like to see you and explain things that I cannot write in a letter.</em>
</p><p>[Cloud’s hands begin shaking]</p><p>
  <em>And so I make you an offer. If you head north out of Edge to the coast, there’s a small fishing village. Approximately one mile east of the village is an overlook, marked by a large boulder. I’ll be there on Wednesday, from noon until sunset.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope you will join me. I will understand if you do not. Although I have tried, I can’t imagine what your reaction will be to this offer. It will be a relief to know, one way or another, next week.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This will be my last letter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sephiroth</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Watch me tweet dirty pictures.  <a href="https://twitter.com/LemonDropLan"> @lemondroplan </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>